The Kingdom - Born on the Bayou

skullandscythe 2013-11-07 16:52:12
Red picks up the cup and takes it into his room, sitting down on the bed and staring out the window as he sips.

Makes him feel a little better.
e of pi 2013-11-09 11:50:23
Anton awakens to one of the servants at the door, calling his name. As he works to keep his eyes open and pulls himself up out of the still-slightly-sweat-damp bed, his sleep-fuzzy brain works through the message. "Grub in half an hour, got it," he says. It takes him a moment to realize he spoke aloud, but he turns back to the servant. "Thanks, I'll be down," he says, then runs a hand over his chin. "Is there someplace I can shave?"
"There is a washing up closet with running water through that door, Master Anton," the servant replies, pointing to a small door.
Anton grunts. "Right, thanks." It takes him a moment before he realizes the servant isn't leaving. "That's all, thanks."
Shaking his head, he goes about the business of getting cleaned up and ready for another day in this bloody swamp.
Gatac 2013-11-10 03:28:10
Martin’s stretching routine is uncomfortably interrupted by the sound of croaking frogs outside. Annoying little critters - at least Martin got used to the monastery’s roosters waking him up, but the frogs have a certain persistence about them that causes their calls to drag on and on. Martin powers through the rest of the stretches, but when it comes to the actual exercises and form practices, the croaking just keeps shattering his concentration. Now, Martin could try to ignore them harder, or plug his ears or something like that.

He could do that. Or he could go outside and have a little fun with the frogs. Of course, that would be irresponsible and rash and not in line with his order’s teachings and - well, long story short, Martin does that. He doesn’t think to go looking for the manor’s back door. The window in his room is a perfectly fine exit, and in a flash Martin leaps up to it, crouching on the windowsill with his arms hooked into the frame and hanging forward, cocking his head to one side and then the other to locate the frogs. Sharp eyes spot the little muck-colored noisemakers sitting besides a nearby muddy pool, croaking their little lungs out like it’s some sort of competition. Martin’s about to add a speed component to the games, though: he unhooks his arms and tumbles forward, then scurries along with arched back through the grass and reeds. His approach is quiet: the padded soles of his bare feet are quieter than boots, and his fur makes him more mindful of what he’s brushing up against than he would be in his robes.

Poor frogs. Poor, naive little froggies.

Martin’s almost on them when the frogs fall quiet. Can they see him or hear him, sense him some other way? Has the swamp noticed he’s there? No matter now: Martin’s close enough to pounce. He bows down even lower, tensing his whole body like putting weight on a spring, then lets loose, hurtling through the edge of the reeds and onto the pile of frogs. The frogs scatter and jump away from Martin’s landing spot, but he’s not done yet; tucking into a roll, Martin’s back on his paws in a flash and tensed for the next leap, darting after one of the the frogs that foolishly tried to get away from the pool. And so it goes for a few frantic seconds: the frog making short evasive hops while Martin tries to keep up with his long pounces. It’s only when the frog manages to circle around and dive for the pool with one last heroic leap that Martin sticks the landing at the edge of the pool, rustling through some reeds as his hands and left knee dunk into the water. Martin favors the diving family of frogs with a toothy smile and some panting before he stands up and steps back on solid ground - well, as solid as anything in the swamp gets, anyway. He’s sweaty, dirty and wet - but that was exhilarating, and Martin’s quite sure he could get one of the little buggers with a bit more practice.

“Good workout,” he coughs between breaths. “See you tomorrow.”

Then, he heads back to the manor. Time to groom, again.

---

Suitably cleaned and dried, Martin saunters through the long central hallway of the manor back into the hall with its long table, where Red’s family and the rest of the gang are slowly assembling for breakfast. For being in the middle of the swamp, the breakfast spread is just as impressive as the dinner layout from last night. Last night seemed like a special feast to everyone save Anata, but even she has to admit that the amount of food that seems to be routine at this table is impressive even by her standards. Breads, cooked eggs, cured meats, even exotic tropical fruits are all available for the taking.

“A good morning to you all,” Martin calls.
All of Pops and Ma’s children are present, and all of them - save Pops - give Martin a wide-eyed look. “Missed the fur between yer ears,” Pops says.
“Oh!” Martin says, reaching up to feel the fur on his head - which is standing up rather straight, emboldened by a generous dose of swamp-water. Martin squeezes the fur down and back, feeling a little trickle of water run down his back, but he doesn’t dignify that with further response, instead just sitting down quietly at the table.
“I saw you out in the courtyard,” Flora says. She doesn’t look afraid of Martin; instead, she looks more than a little hostile. “You better not have marked your territory on the windowsill, or torn up the garden. You already scared little Bastien and Lucie half to death.”
“I did not mark anything, Ma’am,” Martin says, nervously flicking his tail. “My apologies for scaring your children. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it’s our fault for not telling the servants about your presence here,” Ma replies. “But now everyone knows that there’s an animal-man on the property, so you shouldn’t have any problems - you’re not a rat-man or a snake-man or something else like those Descoteaux, anyway.”
Martin relaxes at that and begins loading his plate with meats and hard-boiled eggs. “I’m curious about that, actually, if you don’t mind, Ma’am,” he says. “How long have these animal-men troubled you?”
Ma sighs. “Seven or eight long months.”
“What exactly do they do?” Martin says. “You’ve set traps for them - have they attacked your home?”
“Once or twice, they’ve come after this village, but no more than that,” Ma replies. “Flora and Beau and the guards kept them away after that.”
“What are they after?” Martin asks. “Your land?”
“Some of it,” Pops responds. “Sometimes...they just take our people.”
“And what happens to them afterwards?” Martin asks. “Forgive my prying, but it is imperative that we establish the goals and methods of our adversaries.”
Pops reaches over and runs a hand along Ma’s back as Beau clenches his silverware tightly, Flora turns up her hateful glare towards Martin, Marcelle looks away and Marielle stifles a quiet sob. “We don’t rightly know, son. We don’t rightly know.”
“Then we will find out, Sir,” Martin says solemnly, flattening his ears. “And Gods willing, if they’re still alive, we will bring them back.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, son,” Pops replies.
“Sir, I only promise what I fully intend to keep,” Martin says.
“Then you’re a fool, son,” Pops replies, then leans back in his seat. “But being a fool is a luxury the young can afford.”
Admiral Duck Sauce 2013-11-11 17:15:22
"Foolish or not, we ain't yet not done what we said we'd do yet," Ozzy elucidates, then falters as none of the people at breakfast look particularly enlightened by his words. "T'hell with it. We'll go look around after breakfast, maybe figger what we're up against, then fall back on the time-honored traditions of... wossname. Diplomacy. You can trust us to diplomacy the shit out of those Disco-toes what got yer people."
skullandscythe 2013-11-13 23:12:11
Red frowns when he hears the croaks peter out. Putting the cup aside, he reaches over for his bow, and an arrow from his quiver, and strides over to the window, arrow drawn and pointed at -

Martin in his nice fur coat splashing around in the swamp muck, chasing frogs.
Red drops the arrow, reaches over for the teacup, and knocks it back.

Empty! Fuck!
Red gingerly replaces his bow and heads out of his room.
---
Red appears not too long after Ozzy, coming out of the kitchen with a big carafe of what smells like some strong herbal tea. He pours some out into a teacup, glups down about half the cup in one go. Then he turns to Martin.

"Better wash up after breakfast," he says. "'Else the whole house'll smell like mud and wet fur."
Gatac 2013-11-14 13:01:46
"Nothing a good groom won't fix," Martin replies. "Your parents were just telling us about their troubles with the Descoteaux." Martin's diction is much improved by the lack of alcohol in his system. "Perhaps you can add your own experiences?"
skullandscythe 2013-11-25 14:40:28
"There were some raids," Red replies as he cradles his teacup, "but they were more harassment than anything. Only once or twice did someone die when this happened. And they weren't ever this...aggressive before. This has the feel of a war about it now, not an old feud. It's why I want to ask around and get a feel for what's making 'em tick, so I can learn what else has changed."
Gatac 2013-11-26 12:18:11
"A wise plan," Martin says. "I will join you, of course, if you can delay a few minutes for me - I suspect I will draw less attention in my human guise."
Admiral Duck Sauce 2013-12-03 13:33:56
"Anyone stickin' 'round 'ere?" Ozzy gets up, pushing back his empty plate. "If not, let's get movin'. Thanks fer the food, Ma."
punkey 2013-12-04 12:59:35
Ma nods in Ozzy’s direction with a smile. “You’re welcome, Oswald. Now, get your asses on out there and find out what those Descoteaux are up to, dammit.”

----

Ten minutes later, the group reconvenes outside. Lucius, there first, is double-checking his gear and checking himself in the windows for any flash. He actually was wearing his entire travel gear to breakfast, knives included, and that made preparing for the journey to come a snap.
“So, what is the plan?” Lucius asks. “We all going to what passes for civilization around here?”
Gatac 2013-12-04 13:06:05
"Indeed," Martin says, strolling outside in human shape, looking every bit the humble monk in his robes with only heavy breaths and a sweaty brow to show for his transformation. "We are sure to be noticed, but I believe we may extract a degree of advantage out of being underestimated. Perhaps we can think of a fib to account for our presence in enemy territory?"
Admiral Duck Sauce 2013-12-04 15:36:02
"I reckon we play it close to the truth," Ozzy suggests. "We're here on Wizard business, lookin' fer any signs o' the deadites out 'ere, makin' sure they ain't spreadin' into the hinterlands past the City. 'More you help us the quicker we're gone' kind o' thing."
CrazyIvan 2013-12-04 23:00:22
Ana thanks the young girl for waking her with a soft smile, and favors her with a coin produced from a hidden pocket before she watches the girl skip down the hall with something that might be called wistfulness.

She speaks little during breakfast, merely nodding her assent at the plan and gathering as the others do, outside. She hangs back a little, putting a hand on Ozzy's arm. "Could I have a moment Ozzy?"

She slows her pace a little, just enough to achieve some separation between the pair and the rest of the group. She sighs, hesitating a little before she speaks. "About what happened before we went beneath the city..." The reference requires little explanation, the memory of fleeing a horde of restless dead with a decidedly well-armed woman carried in an entirely unladylike fashion a fairly unique one.

"My name, my full name, is Anata Larian. Daughter of Lord Marshall Aleksander Larian. I don't tell you this to flatter my ego, but to make you understand that I do not do what I do for the money. I could save myself a great deal of trouble, return home, find a husband, part my legs, raise children and host salons like a proper woman of my rank is supposed to, and concern for coin would never cross my thoughts. I am not some poor city girl who had to choose between being a hired blade and being a doxy to keep myself warm and fed. I do what I do because I am very good at it - and because I have little desire for anything else."

She gives herself another pause before continuing. "Which is why what you did will not happen again. The gods denied me my death once, and if you try to again...I will force your hand in the matter. I consider you my friend, and I'd rather avoid that, so please..." she fixes Ozzy with a serious, firm, but not particular hostile look. "Do we understand each other?"
Admiral Duck Sauce 2013-12-05 10:09:35
"Yes n' no," Ozzy answers, the hint of a scowl on his face. "I don't understand why you want it, but I can understand what yer askin'." He nods. "But Martin won't, even if he might say he does. I reckon you'll have ta plan yer heroic death while he's otherwise distracted."

Even so, there's a slight change behind Ozzy's eyes, like a mental step back and some small groundswell of relief, then a flash of guilt that's replaced by his usual practiced vacant observation.
CrazyIvan 2013-12-09 21:12:40
Ana nods. "I will deal with the novice if it comes to that. He, I suspect, will not be swayed with a conversation alone. But if it comes to it, I will make the sincerity of my desires clear to him. Thank you for respecting my wishes - I do not expect you to understand them."
skullandscythe 2013-12-13 22:42:09
"Placerville ain't enemy territory," Red growls. "No disguises and fibs needed to explain us. Getting the information we need...likely a whole different story."
e of pi 2013-12-15 14:59:50
Anton shrugs. "Well, we can poke around and see what comes up."
Gatac 2013-12-21 15:33:56
Placerville, with its muddy paths, rickety suspended wooden walkways, ramshackle buildings and general shabbiness, actually hews closer to everyone’s first thoughts on what Red’s former residence looked like than Pop’s village itself does. The population ambles to and fro on the day’s business, rough fabric pants and boots caked with mud and dresses held high when on the ground and the more fortunate - either in wealth or position - walking on the elevated platforms above. The generally sedate atmosphere lending more credence to the idea that very little actually happens here, with the only reasonably sturdy buildings being by the main road on the edge of town, paved in roughly broken stones.

Martin feels his skin crawl as he walks the mud, and it’s not just that this isn’t really his skin anymore and his body would prefer to get its freak on. No, this is the healer part of Martin that can feel a whole place being sick. It’s not just the swamp air (though that’s certainly part of it), but there’s something suffocating about the village, and something uncomfortable beneath the veneer of civility. Or maybe he’s being overly dramatic, but his first impression isn’t a good one. Then again, maybe it’s time to augment that first impression with the thoughts of someone whose daily work is watching those streets and what goes on in them. Martin seeks out the nearest beggar and drops some coin into his cup.

“I hope this will suffice for your next meal, friend,” he says. “I am new in town. What do I need to know?”
The man looks up at Martin with unsteady eyes. “Th’ Newton whore thinks th’ Madrid whore is watchin’ her,” he mutters.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Martin says, then wanders back to the group. “So much for attempting to get the lay of the land. Does anyone have a bright idea before I try again with the next vagrant?”
“Why not ask the spy Rollins sent with you?” a voice asks from above. Q flutters down from the sky and hovers in front of the group. “Surprise, bitches.”
“An entirely sensible course of action,” Martin says. “What have you learned, Q?”
“The Descoteaux are making some kind of land grab - and human grab, too,” Q says. “If this place seems scared shitless and half-empty - that’s because the Descoteaux have been taking people from here. Small farms dropping out of contact, caravans disappearing, all sorts of bad shit.”
“Do you know where they are?” Martin asks.
“You ask the crazy bums, everywhere,” Q replies. “You listen in on the townsfolk, they say that the Descoteaux plantation is empty. So, no.”
“Is there anyone in town who opposes them in earnest, then?” Martin asks. “An enemy of theirs may know more that is of use to us - or draw an attack that leads us to them.”
“From what I’ve heard, they’re waiting on help from the Wizards or Valorous Sword,” Q replies. “Not a lot of fighters here that have a preferred weapon other than a bottle.”
“Hm,” Martin murmurs to himself. “Then I suppose we keep asking around and, failing any further insight from the townspeople, we simply lie in wait for the next attack.” He looks around. “Perhaps we can do do some other good while we are here, too. In any event, we will not make progress standing here. Shall we proceed down the road?”
skullandscythe 2013-12-30 17:32:47
"Sounds good to me," Red says. He puts a hand behind Martin's shoulder, turns him around and guides him forward.

"I know I've said this once already," Red begins, "but since there are now new dangers and likely conflict, I'd like to remind you of the dangers of your...appearance. The enemy, if the information we have is accurate, have heads that resemble animals." Here he lowers his voice. "There are times when your head resembles a tiger's. In the confusion of combat, it is likely that, to the townspeople and any reinforcements that arrive, your other form will be indistinguishable from the enemy you are fighting. And while your prowess is impressive, I do not believe you can survive a battle on two fronts."
Gatac 2013-12-31 02:58:02
"So what would you have me do, Red?" Martin asks. "I will take good care to remain in this shape, but I cannot simply sit aside when we fight." He smirks. "Someone has to protect you, after all."